


Pillow Talk

by Ludwiggle73



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Domestic Fluff, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Multi, Polyamory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-28
Updated: 2021-01-28
Packaged: 2021-03-14 15:20:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29048304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ludwiggle73/pseuds/Ludwiggle73
Summary: Arthur keeps Gil and Toni up at night. Not in the fun way.
Relationships: England/France/Prussia/Spain (Hetalia)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 29





	Pillow Talk

All of them were cute when they slept.

Gilbert was cute because seeing such a strictly routined German succumb to slumber reminded observers that, no matter how strong he prided himself in being, he was still human and required rest just like anyone else. Antonio’s charm extended beyond his waking hours; he was the one sprawled diagonal across the bed, a sun-browned arm thrown over his eyes, mouth wide open in exhausted abandon. He was the best at drifting off—the only one in the house not plagued by insomnia—and often bragged about his ability to fall asleep standing up if only there was anyone willing to catch him. Francis was of course the prettiest and always seemed to fall asleep in elegant poses: hands tucked beneath his cheek, knees bent just so, hair blooming over his pillow and only occasionally tickling Antonio’s nose. It wasn’t unheard of for Francis and Antonio to break for a siesta together, which could have been a male modelling photoshoot for the level of combined beauty between them.

And then there was Arthur.

He was the latest addition to the relationship and felt, although none of the trio had admitted it to him, like the last piece of the puzzle. He’d been an intimate friend of Francis’s years ago, so Gilbert and Antonio tended to use him as their point of reference when interacting with Arthur. And, fortunately, he was fine. Sure, he bickered with Francis and competed with Antonio and . . . actually, he got along quite well with Gilbert, which surprised no one more than him. But they’d learned each other over the past year and now they knew Arthur, for all his sarcasm and self-deprecation, cared deeply for those he considered his. Even Gilbert, the most possessive—ahem, protective—of them all, felt honored to be welcomed into the Englishman’s barbed heart.

Then night came.

In Arthur’s defense, he was great at other bed-related activities. He’d introduced them to things Antonio hadn’t even heard of, things Gilbert had been too shy to bring up himself. He was definitely the most flexible of them all (not physically; that was Francis) to the point where Gilbert had even let him be dominant. Not the top—Gilbert wasn’t sure he’d ever go there—but being relentlessly ridden into the mattress before the sleeping beauties woke was a pleasantly liberating surprise. (It was definitely nice to have someone else with a discipline kink around.) And Antonio was glad to finally have someone to be genuinely rough with. Gilbert could get a little carried away from time to time, but even then it wasn’t the same; Antonio wanted a hair-pulling, lip-biting, skin-clawing mess, and Arthur was happy to oblige. And as for Francis, well . . . it was refreshing to find someone with more stamina than him.

If only Arthur was so easy to appreciate after the fun was over.

He did have some cuteness to his name. He usually slept in a ball, despite the size of the king bed, and sleep took a decade off his freckled face. Seeing him curl up, snuggled so peacefully into a pillow, was almost sweet.

It was just that he wouldn’t shut up.

Granted, he was usually the last to fall asleep and the others were all heavy sleepers. But on nights when Antonio or Gilbert couldn’t find steady slumber, listening to Arthur’s mumbles and sighs was downright maddening. Probably it had been cute the first time, but that was a memory so distant as to be forgotten. More than once, when faced with Francis’s snores and Arthur’s rambles, Gilbert had surrendered and left for the couch. Usually, Antonio could block it out after a while; he was so used to Francis’s night noises that he used those as a distraction from Arthur. It was a dubious system, but it worked.

Until Francis spent a night out of town.

It was a business trip, something to do with the opening of a new gallery. He wouldn’t be there long enough to make company worth it, not that it was simple for four people to travel together anyway. (They hadn’t tried to vacation yet. Gilbert hoped Arthur would turn out to be as militantly pragmatic about planning and packing as he was; he needed someone on his side against Team Spontaneous.) Francis had given them each a kiss and promised he’d bring back some pastries from the little bakery Antonio adored. Then he was gone.

They afternooned without consequence. Antonio made salsa from scratch which they dipped tortilla chips (not from scratch) into while they played games. Arthur beat them at a torturous game of Scrabble. Antonio won several lively hands of Texas hold ’em until Gilbert intervened lest it become throats being held instead of cards. So, to make it up to him, they played some online trivia and, shockingly, Gilbert’s knowledge of military history greatly outweighed theirs. ( _I thought you studied history,_ Gilbert said, amused. Arthur didn’t bother explaining, again, that his historical lit class had not taught him about killing people in such uninspired ways.)

Supper was eaten on the couch in front of a movie chosen after fifteen minutes of debate. Antonio and Arthur had both seen it before, so they supplied commentary that Gilbert laughed at more than the scripted jokes. Halfway through, Antonio put his feet on Gilbert’s lap. Some time later, Gilbert put his arms on the back of the couch, one of them right behind Arthur’s shoulders. He didn’t look away from the screen, but the next time they laughed, Arthur’s side ended up leant against Gilbert’s. Antonio snuck a fond glance. Gilbert smiled.

They were neither fond nor smiling several hours later. The time for sweaty merriment was over, and Arthur was murmuring in undiscovered tongues with Gilbert and Antonio lying miserably on either side of him.

They had tried to exhaust Arthur—taking turns at either end of him—in the hopes he’d be too tired to sleeptalk. Alas, all they’d apparently done was guarantee he fall asleep first. They’d sealed their fate.

Antonio lasted half an hour before he came up on an elbow. “That’s it. I’m going crazy.”

Gilbert propped himself up too. He could just barely see the glint of Antonio’s eyes. “I thought you could sleep anywhere.”

“I _can._ Just not with somebody doing _that_ in my ear. It’s like—he’s not even saying words.”

“I know. I keep trying to figure out what he’s saying and it keeps my awake.”

“God, I _know_ , right?”

They listened. Arthur softly put some vowels and consonants together in illogical sequence.

“Actually,” Antonio said, “it could be German.”

 _“Sh,”_ Gilbert chided, and Antonio gave a breathy chuckle. “Don’t wake him up.” 

“Why not? That’s basically what he’s doing to us.”

“Because. Do you like being woken up?”

Antonio pouted.

“And besides, it’s not his fault. He’s not doing it on purpose.”

Antonio looked down at Arthur, doubtful. “. . . Maybe if we covered his mouth.”

Gilbert considered the vulnerable Englishman, then shook his head. “No, the sound would still come out. He’d just be humming.”

“Then we could cover his nose,” Antonio pointed out. “Have you ever tried to hum with your nose closed?”

Gilbert stared at him. “Toni. Have you ever tried to breathe with your mouth and nose covered?”

“Oh, yeah.” Antonio looked glumly at their oblivious victim. “Right. Never mind.”

They watched while Arthur shifted slightly, deeper into the pillow. There was something almost plaintive now about the scattered sounds. Almost like he was . . . whimpering.

Gilbert looked at Antonio. Antonio looked at Gilbert.

“Call him,” they said in unison. Gilbert’s phone was more responsibly charged, so it was the one put to work.

Midnight wasn’t remarkably late for Francis—he had been discovered at his easel multiple times by Gilbert on his way to a three a.m. workout—but he still took a few rings to answer. “Hmm? Gil?”

“You’re on speaker,” Gilbert whispered. “Toni’s listening. Arthur is asleep.”

“What are you doing to him?” Francis asked, immediately suspicious.

“Nothing,” Antonio cried, then winced at Gilbert’s disapproving look.

Arthur was still making pitiful noises. He was a lost traveler, bobbing alone in an empty sea.

“He’s keeping us awake,” Gilbert told the phone.

“As usual,” Antonio muttered, then pretended to pet Arthur’s hair.

“But now he’s starting to sound like he’s having a nightmare or something,” Gilbert went on. “And you know him best, so . . .”

Francis’s pause lengthened, but somehow they could both feel the love from him now that he knew their intentions were good. Gilbert was the one who’d grown up always striving to please his father, which against his wishes had turned him into a man others sought approval from, but Francis was different. He was never angry or even disappointed, really, but winning this almost maternal warmth from him was a precious trophy indeed.

“How are you there?” Francis asked finally.

Gilbert blinked. Antonio had more experience interpreting Francis’s particular flavor of English, so he clarified, “On the bed?”

“Oui.”

“Uh. One scoop of chocolate, two of vanilla, the middle one is smaller and has sprinkles,” Antonio reported, snickering even as Gilbert lightly thumped his curly head.

“Good,” Francis said. “You should cuddle him.”

This took a moment to sink in.

“Cuddle _Arthur_?” Antonio asked.

“He always says he hates cuddling,” Gilbert said.

“I know him best,” Francis reminded them, dulcet and sing-song.

“If he bites me, I’m blaming you,” Antonio promised, but he slowly slipped an arm around Arthur’s shoulders.

No reaction. Just a muffled squeak.

Gilbert edged closer, reaching across so he could touch Antonio as well. They both curved around Arthur, cradling him with their warmth. Antonio nuzzled into Arthur’s hair. Gilbert brushed his lips over Arthur’s forehead.

They stayed like that, breathing together, for what felt like a long time. Long enough, in fact, that Antonio slipped off to sleep. Long enough that Arthur went silent, at last sensing he was safe and sound.

“It worked,” Gilbert whispered, taking the phone off speaker.

He could hear Francis’s smile. “Bonne nuit, mes amours.”

Arthur woke with a bit of a start, expecting an alarm, but he wasn’t late. He was early, actually; darkness still pressed close to the windows. And speaking of pressing close . . .

Holding his breath, Arthur slowly turned his head to the right. Antonio was deeply asleep, curls smeared in every direction. Then the left: Gilbert was asleep too, his firm brow for once unburdened with thought. Impossibly, they both had their arms around him. Antonio’s legs were tangled with his. It was difficult to say where one body started and another began. He was unused to this kind of closeness, the kind that didn’t involve sex. He’d never been brave enough to ask for it, no matter how starved of it he felt. But they’d given it to him anyway.

Slowly, tentatively, Arthur snuggled his head against Gilbert’s chest. Contentment spread like honey through his veins. He’d have to yell at Francis when he got back, though. Surely this was his fault, and he knew better.

Arthur hated cuddling, after all.

  
  


_The End._


End file.
